


Implode

by melianthegreat



Category: The Grand Tour (TV) RPF, Top Gear (UK) RPF
Genre: M/M, Medical Conditions, Melodrama, Romance, Sexual Content, Soap Opera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-21
Updated: 2019-03-28
Packaged: 2019-11-01 19:50:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 19,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17873744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melianthegreat/pseuds/melianthegreat
Summary: An event from Richard's past comes back to haunt him.Can he be helped?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is a dark, melodramatic story. It is partially inspired by something I experience as a part of my brain injury, though I have ratcheted up the drama here. 
> 
> This is a multi-chapter story that will take a bit to post, so patience is appreciated.

"Running late, James!" Richard called upstairs. "Let's go!" Richard was nothing if not punctual. James was always the pedant, except in this one area. Richard always felt this was a professional duty, to be on time for studio shoots. It was hard to control that on location; weather or traffic or road conditions or the occasional military checkpoint could hold you up, but in the studio, when you know you need to be there in time for some makeup so you won't wash out under the lights, and wardrobe, and some tea, and a chance to get yourself together before you face an audience because the studio shoot starts at Noon, and the studio is about 75 miles away, there's little reason to be late. Especially since you being late makes the rest of the crew late, not to mention the audience who has their own schedules to keep. 

James sauntered down the stairs. "Don't get your knickers in a twist, Hammond," James smiled at his husband. "We do have time."

Richard tapped his watch impatiently. "Captain Slow in all things, aren't you?"

James smirked. "You didn't complain when I was being Captain Slow in bed last night," he answered smugly. Indeed Richard didn't mind James being Captain Slow last night, because Richard simply didn't want Captain Quick and Intense and However Richard Oftentimes Liked It. Of late there had been a feeling of brittleness within him, like expecting fingernails on a chalkboard. It wasn't quite that he was feeling unwell; it was more a feeling that things were just a bit too noisy, the colors a shade too bright, the pace a bit more frenetic. There was no point in telling James, though; he'd worry, then convince Jeremy to be worried, too, followed by a worried Jeremy making Andy worried. All Richard needed was a bit of extra rest, as he'd felt this before and knew he just needed to double his naptime. And he'd have the time after this to do it, as this was the last show of the season.

Richard cracked a satisfied grin. "Hard for me to complain when you made me unable to form words," he acknowledged, giving a quick kiss. "Let's go."

James pulled back slightly and looked at Richard. "Are you okay?" He asked. 

Richard shrugged. "Why wouldn't I be okay?" he answered with a question of his own.

"You just look a little...off," James replied, his voice soft. 

"Just a bit knackered," Richard sighed. "Nothing a holiday won't cure. And we'll get one after this taping. The sooner we get to Chipping Norton, the sooner we can do the taping, and the sooner our holiday can begin." He handed the keys over. 

***

All of them needed the holiday, on-camera talent and crew alike. It had been a long season, they'd gone to some spectacular places, and Richard especially had a couple of instances where he'd demonstrated his nine lives, if not Captain Jack Harkness levels of immortality. And of course there was the typical panic of leaving certain things to the very last minute, working against deadline. But now they were at the finish line, just one more thing to do before everyone got some time off before putting in the work for the next season.

James parked his Panda in the space Jeremy provided for him. Both Richard and James smiled at each other, anticipating the celebration that was to follow the end of the taping. All the same, James quietly wondered if they should duck out of the party in order to get Richard home. He'd been told it was simply fatigue, but something in the back of James' brain noted the slight pallor to Richard's skin, noticed how Richard had shut his eyes around sharp turns.

Richard took a deep breath and let it out slowly. One of the interns approached, asking if they wanted to start with coffee or tea. James asked politely for tea but Richard simply stared as if he didn't hear the question.

"Rich?" James asked. No response. "Richard?" Still no response. "Earth to Hammond!" James called.

Richard started. "Yes?"

"Coffee or tea to start?" James asked again.

"Oh!" He smiled at the intern. "Tea, please." The intern walked away.

James stared at Richard sidelong, noticing that he blinked as if he were trying to get his bearings. "Are you sure--" James began.

"Tired," Richard answered him sharply, then sighed. "Sorry. Just...let's get through today, yeah?" He headed off toward the portacabin to get into makeup and wardrobe.

***

"He's acting like he's coming down with something," Jeremy observed to James after Richard excused himself to the loo. "You know what the past few months have been like. I'm shocked we haven't all been laid out with the flu before now."

"Thank God we have some time off after this," James stated. " I think he can get through today, but if he had to push on at the pace we've been at lately he'd keel over. Let's face it, none of us are young men anymore, Hammond included."

"Don't let Hammond hear you say that," Jeremy warned. "You know how tetchy he is about his age." 

"The fifties really aren't that old," James mused. 

"Not to us," Jeremy reminded him. "Someone who's always been young and pretty, though..."

"Hey! Are you calling my husband _pretty_ , Clarkson? Find your own!" Jeremy laughed, Richard returned from the loo, and the Bollocks Hour continued.

***

It was done, the taping was over, and Richard honestly didn't know how he was going to get off on his own.

As soon as Richard had appeared before the audience he felt the trouble coming. The audience members were simply too loud. The studio lights were nearly blinding to him, the rich color tones of the studio itself tried to bleed into each other. To him it was like the introduction to the Cure's "Fascination Street", a whirling cacophonous wall trying to crash down on him. He felt inside like any second his brain would simply implode, fold in upon itself and cease to function. It had been awhile since he'd last felt this, making sure he got enough rest, making sure he called for a break when he felt this. But he couldn't just stop the taping and say he needed a nap. It was something only the most intimately involved with him knew: his family, Mindy, his daughters, the longtime crew who needed to know these sudden breaks happened, and of course Andy, Jeremy, and James. Others only knew what they needed to know or knew nothing. And once this got out to the public it was going to be massive: tabloid stories and lots of internet speculation would occur. The old questions of should he be doing such dangerous things would be peppered in.

Richard didn't quite know later how he managed to pull it off, but somehow he kept it together and finished the taping. One look in James' eyes, however, told his husband nothing was okay. But there had always been something about Richard's professionalism that got him through these tapings. Richard had suffered through illness, the occasional hangover (he rarely got drunk on nights before taping) and times when the three of them were in screaming matches with each other beforehand, and yet from the outside nothing showed. All the same, when it was over and they stood before the audience and the applause and light appeared to be nothing more than a white wall falling down onto his head, Richard's only thought at that moment was to escape, to find a dark room and remove all the stimuli before it was too late and his brain completely imploded and he died right there in front of everyone. He walked out, and then he just didn't return.

20 minutes later, as the last of the audience had left and the wrap party was being set up, Jeremy and James reemerged. "Where's Hammond?" James asked, confused. 

"I thought he was changing," Jeremy answered, "and he was simply waiting on you. You haven't seen him?"

"No," James shook his head. "And I could see whatever's been bothering him earlier was trying to bother him during the taping."

"Maybe a party with lots of noise and music and booze wouldn't be a good move for him right now," Jeremy replied. "We need to find him. But keep it low-key. No point in worrying anyone else."

It took nearly half an hour but James and Jeremy found him. Richard was curled in upon himself in the area they used for quick rewrites. He'd thrown his jacket over himself, desperate to keep out the light. Even with the jacket over his head, Richard was clearly rocking desperately. 

James swallowed the bile in his throat, flashing on old memories. "Richard?" He called softly.

"James, it's too much," Richard whimpered. "Everything's too much." He rocked harder. "Too much light, too much noise."

"Is it a migraine?" Jeremy whispered, knowing any sound would be amplified.

"No, no pain," Richard gasped. "God, it's all falling in on me...can't make it stop... "

"I can get you home," James told him, his voice gentle. Jeremy could see in James' blue eyes he was deeply worried. "I can get my sunglasses out of the car."

"Wait," Jeremy stated, pulling James aside. "Maybe this isn't a good idea. His brain's overstimulated. Even with sunglasses and his eyes closed, headlights and motion would register. It might make him worse." James nodded in agreement. "Take him to the house. Darken the guest room as much as you can. I can pull Andy aside and tell him what's happening, then meet you there and give some of my sleeping pills. That will help."

"And if anyone else asks about us..." James began.

"I'll just say Hammond wasn't well and you were taking him home," Jeremy suggested. Only those who need to know will know you're here."

James nodded at that. "Thanks, Jezza."

"Don't mention it. It might make me come off as sensitive and caring."

***

It took a bit before James could get Hammond into Jeremy's house. The first thing he did was to go back to his car to fetch his sunglasses; even though the sun was setting, Richard needed as little bright light as possible. As everyone else was at the wrap party, they were unnoticed as they slowly walked to the mansion. It was just as well: explaining would have panicked those who were in the know and would have been too confusing to those who weren't. Right now delays would have exposed Richard's hypersensitive brain to more stimuli. Once inside, James quickly put Richard to bed and darkened the room as his husband dressed in an oversized t-shirt of Jeremy's; it was probably the right size for Clarkson, but on Hammond was perfect as a sleep shirt. James found the sleeping pills in the medicine cabinet of the ensuite lavatory and Richard took them.

"I'm so sorry, James," Richard whispered as he settled in the bed. "You were looking forward to this party. You should go. All I'm going to do here is sleep. I'll be okay."

"I'm staying here," James whispered back as he squeezed Richard's hand. "You need to rest. I'm not going anywhere."

"At least you should be in bed next to me," Richard grinned sleepily, the medicine already taking effect.

"Too much for you right now," James grinned. "Besides, if we ended up having sex in one of Jezza's beds, I think _his_ brain might short-circuit."

"Fair point," Richard whispered after a moment, and soon he was deeply asleep.

***

The next morning James walked down to the kitchen to find Clarkson already awake and toasting bread. "Morning," James announced with surprise, realizing Jeremy looked none the worse for wear. "You're awake, and apparently not hung over. How was the party?"

Jeremy smiled. "A new low," he announced proudly. "The human sacrifice was a thing of beauty. Too bad nobody got pictures." He plated some eggs for James and placed them on the table. "It ended early," he acknowledged. "I think everyone just wanted to get their rest. Wilman and I brought a care package back for you and Hammond, but you were both asleep. It's in the refrigerator. Speaking of...where is the Hamster?"

"Still out," James answered, swallowing his tea. "The pills must have been pretty strong."

"They're not strong at all," Jeremy told him. "I think Richard was that exhausted." There was a moment of silence while Jeremy grabbed his own plate and took several bites. "Have you noticed Richard having this kind of trouble lately?" Jeremy finally asked, knowing he was treading on a sensitive issue. James always walked the fine line with Richard between genuine concern and overprotectiveness, but then they all had for years, with good reason.

"He's been very tired lately," James answered with a shrug. "But then I have been, too. The schedule has been murderous the last month. I've had times I've been so tired I didn't sleep well, so I can only imagine what Richard's done. Yesterday, though..."

"Yesterday was rough," Jeremy finished the thought. "Even before the taping he had moments. It was like he was out of the room while standing there. How he got through the taping without a meltdown I have no idea. Afterwards..." he shook his head. "He hasn't done that since--"

James looked at Jeremy seriously. "Since he came back," he said. Jeremy nodded gravely. "Dear God."

"When was the last time Hammond saw his neurologist?" Jeremy asked.

"A while," James answered. "But Jezza, it's been over a decade. The accident happened in 2006."

"And nobody really knows the far-reaching consequences are for his brain," Jeremy countered. "Let's not forget he's knocked his head around a few times since. Could it be something new, or a part of the old injury? Was this just one of those things that pops up occasionally..."

"Or a warning of things to come?" James responded.


	2. Chapter 2

James watched Richard sleep. He was doing a lot more of that lately.

There had been a thought, at least at the beginning of this break, that all Richard needed was rest. His brain was tired, and for him that meant the feeling of sensory overload, corrected by sleep which allowed the brain to shut off and be still. James had gotten used to the idea of making the house as quiet as possible in the afternoon to allow naptime; it hadn't been unlike the stories Richard told of when his daughters had been babies and put down by Mindy, the times he'd been home during breaks.

At first the idea seemed to work; Richard had been much sharper and more focused than he had in awhile. But soon James noticed Richard was needing the naps more and more, and his time asleep longer. At least if it was helping he'd not notice, but the look in Richard's brown eyes betrayed the knowledge he wasn't resting at all. He didn't say anything about it, but James knew.

It was a subject James brought up frequently, that perhaps Richard should tell his neurologist of this. Not only did Richard blow it off, now it was beginning to cause true disagreement between them. Not just bantering, full-scale arguments that would abruptly end when Richard would get a certain look in his eyes and blank out for a moment, only to come back and the new look would be of a brain threatening to fold in upon itself again.

Then the planning and beginning of the new series happened. And any thought Richard would be better with the break was disabused. He became easily confused, unable to last long before he'd become scattered and overworked, in need of a break. The moment that spoke of how different things were came when Richard, who'd had the gift of being able to memorize lines effortlessly, even last second rewrites, had trouble. Not just getting lines in the right order, going blank entirely.

The crew went dead quiet. This was a skill Hammond was known to have: after his big accident, when his brain had been damaged, this superpower of his had miraculously been untouched. The longtime crew members who'd been around before felt their blood run cold at this development. It was clear to them something was wrong. It was wrong to Brian, their studio director, who had to prompt lines for Richard (prompting was routine for Jeremy and sometimes for James). It was wrong to the editors who had to get a finished product. It was wrong to Andy, who oversaw everything.

And if it was wrong to Jeremy and James, Hammond was having none of it.

"Why can't I just have an off day?" He asked both of them privately. "Why can't I just have a day where it's not coming together for me? Mine just happened to be now, nothing more."

"Because you don't have off days, Hammond," Jeremy argued. "It's like you have this megabrain where it comes to memorization. Ask you to remember to fetch something from Tesco's and forget, yes. Forget lines? Not in this universe. And you know that, Hammond." He sighed. "Rich, normally I wouldn't suggest this--"

"If you dare suggest I go back to my neurologist, I will consider disemboweling you with a spoon," Richard answered testily. "Everyone is overreacting! And you know me. If something was truly wrong I'd be the first to know, and I'd be the first to consider help. As it is..." He stopped abruptly. James watched the expression in Richard's eyes change. He froze a moment, then it was as if a channel registered. "What was I doing?" Richard muttered to himself. "Oh yeah, tea." He grabbed a cup from the cabinet and proceeded to make himself tea, not noticing the worried glances from his mates.

***

As the weeks went on the problems continued. They were small moments for the most part, small enough for Richard to ignore it or deny, but James knew better. Jeremy, Andy and the others only saw half of what James saw, how Richard needed more and more sleep in order to function, how he'd taken to wearing sunglasses at night to keep the headlights of other cars from confusing him while driving. They didn't see the nights where, by the time Richard made it home, he'd immediately go upstairs to the bedroom, where James would find him with a pillow over his eyes, whimpering to "Stop, please stop, God, please, it's too much." But what they did see was disturbing enough: how Richard had to stop driving every few minutes on winding mountain roads to throw up (Richard had always had a delicate stomach during their travels, usually manifested in what James once graphically described as "brown rain", but Hammond almost never experienced carsickness). And there were always those off moments when Richard would momentarily shut down, essentially becoming a wall for a few seconds before snapping back and continuing as if nothing happened, or even changing the subject entirely.

Andy finally decided he had to step in as boss and address the elephant in the room. As boss he had the right to do so, but it was mainly as a mate: he knew Richard had been resistant to James' suggestion something was wrong, and if he was going to ignore someone he loved, he certainly wouldn't ignore it if his job was on the line. If Andy expected Richard to declare he was absolutely right and he would make the call to his doctor first thing in the morning, and gratitude for his concern, Andy certainly didn't get it.

"Andy, how far are we behind schedule?" Richard asked calmly.

"Actually, not much," Andy had to admit. "No worse than usual."

"And how much have I held up filming?" Richard asked.

Andy sighed. "Actually, James holds filming up more when he gets lost," he acknowledged, "but that's not the point. Whatever is causing this with you can get dangerous. I mean, what if you blank out just as you are approaching a hairpin turn?" He smiled faintly. "We're a band, Rich, you've always known that. There are times when we scream at each other, but at the end of the day we stick together because what we do together is so much better than what we can do alone. And we don't want to lose our drummer. Whatever's going on with you, let's figure it out. Because, honestly, I have no clue how many of your nine lives you have left."

Richard patiently listened to Andy. He knew better than to get frustrated with him because he did care, for the production as much as for him. "I think I'm just tired," he said softly. "I know we've only just started this series, but I have to be honest, I'm getting a bit old. I can't go the way I did 10 years ago. It's likely I just have to admit like the two old men who are my colleagues that I have to work smarter and not harder. And, for the record, Clarkson's the drummer. I'm the bassist, remember?"

***

"You know Wilman's simply looking out for you," James told him that night in bed.

"I know Wilman's looking out for his investment," Richard told him. He snuggled closer to James, loving the feel of his husband's skin against his. "Like I told him, though, it's time to accept that I'm not a kid anymore. I am decidedly middle-aged. I have two adult daughters. I have a bad knee that tightens up with the weather. Concessions have to be made, and if that means more naps or extra roughage in my diet, so be it."

"You have two _young_ adult daughters," James corrected him. "And the bad knee came from your adventures, or I should say _misadventures_." He smiled down at Richard. "But no matter how old you think you're getting, some things haven't changed."

"Like what?"

"Like, you're still as daft as a brush sometimes," James answered fondly. "And you're still so sexy I can barely keep my hands off you." Richard smiled at that. "And I'm still amazed that you love me." He reached down and kissed Richard deeply then, letting his hands wander. They spent the rest of their time making love, dropping off to sleep entwined with each other.

***

Two weeks later Richard was driving home from Wales. He'd had a lovely visit with Izzy and Willow, and dropped by to say hello to Mindy. They didn't talk as much as when their girls were younger, but they still considered themselves friendly, still interested in the lives of the other.

"So...tell me about these strange moments you've been having," Mindy ventured as she handed Richard a cup of tea.

Richard smiled down into his mug. "James?" Mindy nodded. "He's being a mother hen, Mind."

"A mother hen who was only around a bit while you were initially recovering from your brain injury," Mindy answered. "He's worried, Rich. And based on what he's described, so am I."

"When did the two of you talk about this?" Richard asked.

"Last week, during one of your naps," she said, "and you're stalling." She was quiet a moment. "You're worried too, aren't you?"

Richard stared straight ahead, not looking at Mindy. "It's like all this time hasn't passed," he whispered. "My brain feels full nearly all the time, and any more information is just going to tip it over and I'm just going to get overwhelmed. I take a nap like I used to, but it's not working as well as before. The light is just a bit too bright, the noises just a bit too loud. And lately, apparently I'm spacing out. I come back and everyone looks at me like I have two heads."

Mindy blinked. "Have you seen a doctor about this?" she asked gently , though Richard could hear the tremble in her voice.

"I don't want to see a doctor," Richard answered.

"For God's sake, why not?"

"Because," he began, then stopped. Mindy looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue. "If something is wrong with my brain, if this is part of the old injury, what can they do to fix it this time? They weren't sure what the long-term effects were going to be on me. I've done other things since then. What if the wrong people found out I was seeing a doctor? I'd lose my license and my living and what I love to do, and I'd just have people waiting around for me to start dribbling and my eyes to point in opposite directions and for me to become some kind of invalid. I don't want to live that way."

"You and I know what they know about brain injuries now is light years ahead of what they knew back then," Mindy tried to reassure him. "What they said they couldn't fix before might be fixable now. And there's a hell of a lot to be said about your determination, you've seen that with fans who reached out to you over the years with stories of their own injuries. You never know. And, if nothing else, you need to have it checked out before something happens at the wrong time."

Richard was quiet a moment. "You're right," he finally replied. "Funny, James had been telling me the same thing for awhile now, and I didn't really want to hear it. Jezza, too. Though he's been more like Hammond, take your head out of your own arse." The statement was accompanied with such an accurate impersonation of Jeremy Mindy couldn't help but burst out laughing.

"Sometimes you need someone from a distance to knock some sense into you," Mindy told him. "And...whatever the result, you know you have a group of us who love you to surround and protect and support. You have me, and the girls, and James, and Jezza, your brothers, everyone you work with, and all those who love you and have never met you. We are Legion, Richard."

Richard smiled, stepped over to his ex-wife, and wrapped her in a hug of gratitude.

Halfway home, as it was getting dark and the headlights on the motorway were washing over him, things started to feel wrong. The lights began to act like flashbulbs: reaching inside the globebox, Richard pulled out the sunglasses and hoped, like the other times he'd done the same, that he wouldn't be pulled over while wearing them (he'd have to come up with a suitable explanation while looking like a right wanker). Before long the sound of his car on the motorway began to blend into the sound of the other vehicles, then the sound began to grow.

 _God, no_ , Richard thought. _Not now, please not now_.

Richard concentrated. _Pedal down, shift, speed good, petrol fine, enough space to the car in front_. The sound was becoming sharper. The lights began to get bright. Richard's head began to hum inside. 

_Pedal down, shift, check the speed. Speed is good. Two exits to Hammersmith_.

The sound was now a loud whine. It was starting to remind him of the jet engine attached to the Vampire dragster. As much as he wanted to forget that sound, he never would. The world around him, the light and sound, was mixing together. It was growing and pressing up to him, making it feel as if he was outside everything and everything was going to fall down on him and crush him.

 _Turn signal, move over. Exit. Home soon_.

Richard couldn't check his mirrors anymore, the lights were becoming blinding; a couple of times he received taps of horns from other drivers as admonishment. He turned onto the street for home, feeling his stomach flip as his eyes tried to refocus. The pressure was mounting, the wall descending. 

_House, drive, turn. Brake. Engine off_. 

Some of the noise was gone, but everything was now too much, too loud. What he wanted to take in around him wouldn't register. Where was he? How did he get here? Richard's hands were shaking. He shut his eyes and tried to take deep breaths to calm himself. He began to remember. _Home. James_. His head reeled. 

Richard heard the car door open. "Rich?" asked a soft, deep voice. _James_. 

"I can't get out yet," Richard told him. "It's too much. Too loud, too bright...I feel sick..."

"I'll help," James whispered to him. "Lean on me. Keep your eyes shut." Slowly they made their way into the house, James secretly thankful if there were paparazzi around they weren't using flash photography. They got into the front room, where Richard sat with his eyes shut as James removed his jacket and shoes. Richard's head was still spinning. They made it as far as the kitchen before Richard could stand nothing else. He broke away from James, stumbling toward the sink, and violently emptied the contents of his stomach into it. James didn't watch, but noted to himself that in all the years he'd known Richard--through bouts of drunkenness and hangovers, food poisoning, the flu, his delicate system during travel--he'd never known a session this epically memorable. It was something James hoped he'd never be a part of again.

It went on for several minutes, until Richard weakly reached for the tap and swished several mouthfuls of water and spit them into the sink. He stayed bent over, holding onto the counter for dear life, trembling all over. James moved a chair from the kitchen table over by Richard. "I'm going to get everything ready," he said gently. "Stay here. I'll help you upstairs when it's done."

Richard nodded as he collapsed into the chair. "James..." he began, his voice rough from vomiting up his stomach acid, "...what's happening to me?"

James' heart nearly shattered at such a plaintive question. He knelt by Richard and caressed his cheek. "We're going to find out," he answered and headed upstairs. Richard couldn't see how scared James was.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know how much of this can actually happen or how much of this is paranoia that it can happen to me, but I told you this is a soap opera.

Mindy sat nervously in the doctor's office with Richard and James. The past few weeks had been about elimination, figuring out what was _not_ wrong. Lots of things had been eliminated, and in the meantime Richard's symptoms had gotten worse. He could no longer drive at night on his own, because the flashing lights and sounds could send him into sensory overload. James and Jeremy worked around him as much as they could, but were quickly running out of things that didn't require Richard. Jeremy and Andy were happy as each potential problem was checked off, but they were both feeling the looming presence of something else big and serious. 

On the day the tests were completed, James personally asked Mindy to come with them. She had been there in the beginning, had been around Richard the most during his recovery. She and Richard had written a bestselling memoir about it, but what Mindy had left out about her ex-husband during that time could make a second book. One day just before their wedding, Mindy had lunch with James and told him all of it. James came away from that afternoon with a new respect for what this tiny woman did to fight for Richard when he couldn't fight for himself. James realized Mindy Hammond was tougher than all the men he knew combined. And that women in general were the stronger half of the species because women endured so much more. It was right for Mindy to be here in case questions needed to be asked or additional information given. Right now James really needed her strength, because he was scared.

Richard went into the office first, and he was in there by himself for a long time. James and Mindy independently took turns attempting deep breathing, trying to stay calm. As time passed it became harder and harder to stay calm; he'd been back there for some time. This couldn't possibly be good.

Finally, James and Mindy were called back. Wordlessly they held hands and stood up. Together they walked down the long hallway to the consultation room. When they walked in Richard was seated, staring straight ahead seemingly at the edge of the doctor's desk. Even though Richard wouldn't look at them, James could see in his dark eyes he'd been given something very heavy and profound to consider. James' heart dropped into the pit of his stomach.

"Mindy, James," the doctor greeted them individually. He wasn't smiling. "Richard asked for both of you so we can all talk at the same time." Behind the doctor his computer held an image, presumably of Richard's brain. "Mindy, I think you recognize this area."

Mindy stared at the computer screen. "That's the site of Richard's injury," she answered softly. 

"Correct," the doctor replied. "This area was the area that received the damage back in 2006." He circled the area with his finger. "Richard's recovery from that injury has been nothing short of miraculous. The circumstances of the accident, the damage it caused, it shouldn't have been survivable, much less at the levels he's shown all these years."

"So, what's wrong?" James asked, worry in his voice. "Why is he having these episodes?"

Richard took his husband's hand and gently squeezed it. He silently stared at that point where their skin touched, almost not wanting to break the spell; of all the things they did together as lovers and life partners, sometimes the best thing in the world was to simply hold James' hand. "They found something," he answered softly, still not looking at either James or Mindy.

The doctor clicked a few keys on his keyboard and another image appeared. It looked like the other image, except this one had a spot that could be seen. "We found a lesion," the doctor said. "It sits right in the area of his previous injury."

Mindy peered sharply. "Could it be scar tissue?" she asked.

"It's possible," the doctor acknowledged. "He's continued his career and his regular life since then, and even in 2006 we had trouble predicting a long-term prognosis. What we know about brain injuries now is so far beyond what we knew then. But what we know of the brain's abilities is next to nothing. But whatever it is, it's interfering with the proper functions of his brain. Not just in this area, but others. That's why Richard is having problems."

James swallowed hard, trying to squash down his rising panic. "Is it operable?" He asked.

"Yes, it's operable. But there are risks. Not just the standard risks of surgery, however."

At that moment Richard spoke up. "Removing the lesion can cause more damage to the brain," he said flatly, still not looking at either James or Mindy. "I can actually end up worse than now."

The doctor nodded. "Richard, you are young enough where you can recover," he said. "You did it before, spectacularly. The brain can compensate."

"Or...not," Richard countered. "Nobody really knows. Not to mention it is brain surgery and can open a whole Pandora's Box of problems."

"Which is why I don't recommend surgery lightly," the doctor replied. "It's also the reason I want you to think about this. This isn't like an ingrown toenail or a wart to remove."

"Is there an alternative?" Mindy asked.

"The alternative is to not have the surgery," the doctor acknowledged. "That is an alternative." He was silent for a moment. "I had a patient who had a brain tumor. It was benign but operable. I removed it twice before, but two years later it was back a third time. When I told him it was back again, he decided not to have the surgery. He said sometimes choosing to do nothing is a choice. He chose to live out the rest of his life with his family and friends. Eventually the tumor grew to the point it compromised the brain's basic functions and he passed away." The doctor looked Richard in the eyes. "You still have a little time to make a decision," he said. "But over time the symptoms you're having will get worse. You have to weigh out whether losing the quality of your life to this is better than the risk of the surgery."

***

There was no discussion as the three of them returned to Hammersmith. Richard really wasn't in the mood to talk and neither Mindy or James wanted to overstimulate his brain; it had to be stressed enough.

When they arrived, they ate what was left of James' leftover Shepherd's Pie for lunch, talking about anything other than the diagnosis. Soon Richard grew tired and began to space out for a moment or two at a time, so James took him upstairs and made the bedroom as dark as he could. Coming back downstairs after several minutes, he found Mindy had put the kettle on and made tea.

"Richard says you think better with tea," she smiled wistfully, pushing the mug toward him. 

"I do. Thanks." They drank in silence for awhile. "I...I don't know how to go about things," James finally stammered. "I know what I want. I want Rich with me for as long as I can have him. But what the best way to get that is, I have no idea. What if what I want isn't what he wants? What if I'm not strong enough to insist?"

Mindy squeezed James' hand. "You are strong enough," she told him. "Something I figured out a long time ago about Richard, he doesn't have weak people around him. If you really think about it, you realize the people he has around him know what they ultimately want. He knows they will give him some quarter, but eventually he knows they will stand up to him, they'll say no, they'll make their demands. You did that with Rich and eventually you married him." Mindy took the mugs over to the sink so her back was to James for a moment. 

James sighed. "I never meant to be a rival to you," he said, his voice sounding small. "There was never supposed to be any of this. You and Richard and the girls were supposed to be together. I was always supposed to be a mate, nothing more."

Mindy turned off the water after rinsing the mugs. "And once you two were together I could never demand he end things with you," she replied with a shrug. "He was in love with you. He still is. Whatever happened happened. Richard has the people around him now who can help him get through this, exactly where they should be. But if you're going through a hard time and you need reassuring, we can always talk, you and me." She smiled at James then, and in that smile there was no trace of bitterness, no loneliness or regret. "I need to tell Izzy and Willow about this, so I should be starting back."

"Shouldn't we wait until Richard knows what he wants to do?" James asked.

"Isabella's already asking too many questions," Mindy answered. "Willow was a little too young to remember all of it, but Izzy wasn't. Even back then she knew when the grownups were hiding things from her about her father. I saw that look in her eyes yesterday, James--she knows something is wrong." James nodded, knowing how close Richard was to both his daughters but most especially his eldest.

"You know if they need me for something or they want to see Hammond, it's okay," James said.

"I think in the time to come it will be Willow who will need you," Mindy replied. "You're her favorite." And she was his; Willow had always been a copy of Richard. 

"Are you sure you won't stay?" James asked. "I can make up the guest room."

Mindy stood up on tiptoe to kiss his cheek affectionately. "Thank you, but tonight you two should be alone," she answered. "If he feels like talking about it, do it. Or if he just feels like being held, do that, too. But remember you know what you want, don't be afraid to tell him."

***

James made Richard some chicken for supper, which he ate well. Richard appeared engaged and active, though subdued, something James figured was natural. He tried to silently make himself open and receptive in case Richard did want to talk about it. However, he never did, in spite of them sharing the evening at home, laughing at a Monty Python marathon on the telly.

At bedtime, James turned out the light and Richard pulled him close, placing his head on James' chest. "I'm scared, James," he said softly.

James remained silent, but in acknowledgment that he heard he wrapped his arms around Richard and squeezed. James felt tears on his chest; it was easier for Richard to cry in the dark, believing James wouldn't see him.

"I am going to lose you," Richard whispered after a moment. "Either I'll have the surgery and be left a vegetable and not know who you are, or I'll not have the surgery and everything will be taken away from me before I die, and I'll have lost you. Or you'll find out you really can't handle this and leave. I can understand that."

James pulled back and took Richard's face in his hands. "I'm scared, too," he replied. "I don't want to lose you, either. I don't want you to be taken from me. But no matter what you do, what you decide, one thing won't happen, I won't leave you. Do you understand?" He pulled Richard in for a kiss, long, deep, nearly overwhelming. "I belong to you, Hammond," he whispered tenderly.

"I love you," Richard whispered back. They didn't make love that night, not in the traditional sense. They spent that time simply holding and caressing each other, giving kisses that lasted for minutes at a time. For them it was just as intimate and just as needed.


	4. Chapter 4

The next week, Richard had to have a long talk with people at DriveTribe and _Grand Tour_.

Presumably through James, Jeremy and Andy had been told about Richard's diagnosis. Then it got out to the staff. So whenever Richard would enter a room or look at someone, he'd catch sad eyes and chins trying not to quiver, or people needing to suddenly excuse themselves. He hated that, the feeling of being thought of as just this side of Death's door.

"Honestly, whatever happens, it's not going to happen right away," he announced to everyone, trying to stay calm and polite. "Whether I have the surgery or I don't and let things take their course, I intend to remain functional for a long time to come. I'm going to have off moments or times when I'm not here, but I'm not a Dead Man Walking. So, please don't plan out my funeral just yet. Back to work." He excused himself to get some writing done. He'd hoped that would be it, that he had everyone sorted out and it would all settle down to some normalcy. Of course that wasn't it. He would now catch the sad look or quivering chin or sudden exit from the room, but surreptitiously. 

"I actually don't know what's worse," Richard complained to Jeremy in the car park as everyone was leaving for the day, "everyone falling apart in front of me, thinking I'm just going to keel over dead in the next 10 minutes, or everyone falling apart behind my back, thinking I'm just going to keel over dead in the next 10 minutes. "

"Damn it, Hammond, are we not allowed to fucking _care_?!" Jeremy snapped. "May has to care, you're married to him! Mindy gets to care, she's the mother of your kids! Don't the rest of us, who've been around since you had the accident in that bloody thing, who weren't even sure you'd survive the first two days, get the right to feel like the rug got pulled out from under us, too? And what about Wilman and me--we're not allowed to weigh in on one of the most important decisions of your life, and decide on which set of consequences we can handle as mates? I can't believe you're that selfish! "

James, who had come out just as Jeremy had launched into his tirade, approached. "Jezza's right, you know," he said, his voice calm. 

"Oh, are you going to have a go at me, too?" Richard asked.

"Bloody hell, yes, I'm going to have a go at you," James answered back. "Everyone has the right to feel what they feel about this. Everyone has their own experiences, their own memories, so everyone is going to react a different way. Just because you're uncomfortable with it doesn't mean they don't have those reactions. You need to stop being such an arse!" He marched to his car and got inside, waiting for Richard.

It took a minute, but finally Richard shrugged his shoulders. "Sorry, Jeremy," he said. "James was right, I was being an arse about it. It's---"

"It's just you have never liked feeling like a liability, " Jeremy finished. "You have never wanted to be treated like you were made of glass, I get it. And you don't like pity. Compassion? Okay. But pity?" He patted Hammond on the shoulder. "You have to realize, we just found this out. It's going to take some time to adjust. We had some time after the accident to get settled and accommodate. Same thing with your leg. We'll get there with this, no matter what you decide. But before we do--" suddenly Jeremy was pulling Richard in and giving him a bear hug. When he pulled away again Hammond could see the tears welling in Clarkson's blue eyes.

"Oh dear God, this is something I don't think I want to remember," Richard cracked, making Jeremy smile.

"It's the cold air," Jeremy replied . "Makes my eyes water. Your husband is waiting, Hammond, time to go home. End of the week, come to my place, we'll get drunk."

"Sounds good," Richard answered. "See you tomorrow." He walked over to the car and got inside, feeling better about where he'd left things with Jeremy. But looking at James, Richard knew it wasn't going to be so easy.

***

They rode home in silence. Richard could tell James was not happy about this day, the way Richard behaved. "Look, I'm sorry, alright?" Richard said quietly. "I was being a right horse's arse about it. "

James waited until he was parked and the engine off before he responded. "You _are_ a horse's arse, Hammond," he said tersely. He turned to face Richard. "I understand you are wrapped up in what's going on with you, but you've failed to see everyone else has their own response to it. When you discount what they think you're saying what they feel doesn't matter. And I'm one of those people. It's like...you're so trying to avoid having others pity you, thinking you're incapable when you aren't, you won't allow anyone else to feel sad, or angry, or scared. And you won't even ask what I think, whether I think you should risk the surgery or not. It's not happening to me so I don't count, right? Well, I bloody well do." He got out of the car and went into the house, Richard following behind.

Richard waited for James to put the kettle on for some tea. "What do you think?" He asked. "Do you think I should risk the surgery?"

James was turned toward the counter, but he didn't turn back toward Richard. "I don't know," he answered. "It's going to be up to you. You have to live with the consequences either way."

 

"Then why did you get your knickers in a twist over my not asking what you think?" he replied, exasperated.

"Because I shouldn't have to ask you to ask me!" James shouted at him. "Maybe you should have thought, 'I have a major life decision to make. Maybe I should seek the advice of my loved ones, they have to live with the decision I make, too. Maybe I should ask the one I spend my nights in bed with, the one whose ring I'm wearing, after all, he's the one closest to me'!" James caught himself and stopped. "I'm sorry, Hammond," he muttered a moment later. 

"Richard shook his head. "Don't be," he replied. "You are absolutely right. I've been so preoccupied I haven't asked you how you're dealing with this." He paused. "What's going on with you?" He asked. "How are you dealing with this?"

James said nothing as he make his tea, his back to Richard. "For the past week, since we found out," he began, "I can't help but watch you. Remember how you said you hate it when people are waiting for your eyes to point in opposite directions? I've been one of them. I'm watching for a sign of trouble so I can't enjoy a good day like today. Because if I see it, that's just a reminder that it's happening and I'm going to end up losing you, and I still... " his voice broke. James looked at Richard, trying and failing to not let him see the tears welling. "I still wonder how I'm going to deal with losing you."

Richard stood and walked over to James. "You haven't lost me yet," he answered gently, stroking his husband's back. "And even though I'll have what I guess will be bad days I'm not giving up so easily. No matter what ultimately happens I'm going to fight like hell, for me and for you." He turned James around to face him, and then Richard kissed him, really kissed him, a kiss full of strength and love and reassurance and life. It wasn't rare for Richard to give this kind of kiss to James, but it was rare for James to need to feel all these things at once. It was a kiss that was a promise, a promise to continue loving and living to the utmost, the way he had for forever. It was what James noted had gotten Richard through so much.

Hopefully it would help him get through this.

***

But as the weeks passed Richard's bad moments happened more and more. Now the bad moments were turning into bad days. Richard found himself increasingly stuck while writing. All of them had encountered these blocks, as frustrating as they were, especially up against a deadline, but it was getting so horrendous for Richard when he was in the office writing, a Do Not Disturb sign was hung upon the door; anyone in violation was met with lots of shouted obscenities, and Richard had a reputation for Olympic-level swearing, as he had achieved in Ha Long Bay in Vietnam and an epic race on a bicycle in St. Petersburg. Occasionally Richard would space out during conversations, James having to take meeting notes for Richard to study later, even if he only found James had doodled a cock. When he would, James would shrug and simply reply, "Oh, Wilman was going on about the budget, you know how he is."

Some of the more distressing moments happened at home. There was one afternoon when James made a shopping run at Tesco's, leaving Richard on the couch, reading. When he returned he found Richard in the hallway WC, the lights off, retching over the toilet. "Rich?" James asked. He reached for the light switch.

"Please don't," Richard pleaded weakly. "It hurts less in the dark."

"Headache?" James asked. Of late the sensory overload was now accompanied by pain, turning these experiences into the worst migraines imaginable. These headaches couldn't be managed by regular, over-the-counter painkillers, but prescription drugs Richard hated to use.

"I was reading," Richard offered, "then I felt it coming. The lights and sounds...oh God, James....It hurts. "

James had put Richard to bed, gave him the painkillers, and waited for him to fall asleep before returning downstairs to put away the items he bought.

Several weeks later Richard had an even more frightening moment. James had been writing and Richard volunteered to make some tea. Richard walked into the kitchen. Quite a while later, with utter silence coming from the kitchen, James got up to see what was happening. He found Richard standing in the middle of the kitchen. "Rich?"

"Yeah?" Richard smiled at him.

James smiled back. "What's going on?" He asked.

"I was getting ready to make you some..uh...tea. I was just about to put some water in the...uh...the...." Richard held up the kettle.

James blinked. "The kettle?" he asked. Richard nodded, then turned on the water and filled the kettle. James felt his heart sink; why in the hell couldn't Richard remember the thing he was filling with water was called a _kettle_?. It was like the time on the show when the hypnotist was brought in to make Richard forget how to drive and he couldn't even remember the names of the buttons on the car. It had been funny back then, not so much now. When he placed the kettle on the stove James pulled Richard to him and held him tightly. He'd seen the warning, and the warning was perhaps he was going to lose Richard sooner than he thought.


	5. Chapter 5

Things got even worse. The feeling Richard had that his brain was trying to fold in upon itself was becoming a nearly daily occurrence, the days of searing pain at least twice a week. Richard's doctor reported that the lesion was growing and compromising other sections of Richard's brain, hence the trouble with words. Considering Richard made a living from words, this was rapidly becoming a problem. And the doctor warned that Richard was running out of time to make a decision on surgery; it either must be done soon or not at all.

"Sooner or later, autonomic functions such as your breathing or heartbeat could be affected," he'd said. "Granted those functions would probably be the last affected, but you want to make this decision while you're still functional enough to make a decision."

Richard's bad day continued. After seeing the doctor he and James went to the office, where Jeremy and Andy were waiting. Settling in the conference room for what Richard assumed was a production meeting, instead Andy looked at him sadly. "I think," he began solemnly, "it may be time to put you on a leave of absence."

"What?" Richard asked. "If that happens the word will get out, Wilman, you know that. It's bad enough the _Daily Mail_ is following us around, asking why James is driving all the time. If I go on a leave they'll start digging for answers. Then they'll recap my injury and question how long I have to live and all that. All of us will be hounded."

"Hammond, we have to do something," Jeremy countered. "I don't want hounding by the press, either, but you're not well. We're afraid of what will happen to you behind the wheel. What if we're in some remote location and you have an episode? We barely know what to do when it happens here, and you're close to medical help."

"You'll do the same bloody thing that you did when I fell off my bike in Mozambique, or when James slammed his head on a rock in the middle of the Syrian desert! " Richard argued. "We have a medical team.. When we were in the North Pole, I had a personal doctor. Remember, my doctors didn't want me doing that unless I was personally supervised?"

"Richard, this was an eventuality we were going to have to face, regardless," Andy told him. "If you have the surgery we'd have to put you on a leave until you recovered. If you don't have the surgery, we'd have to put you on a leave anyway. And what do you think Amazon's reaction would be when they found out? I'll have Bezos himself calling me, asking why I'm treating you like slave labor when you should be at home resting. It's time, mate."

"I can still work, guys," Richard nearly begged. "I can write, I can still present. I'm not just going to keel over dead with this. I'm no more in danger than anyone else on location. Come on." He turned to James, sitting silently to the side. "May, you know me," he said. "You know I can still function."

"We're not replacing you, Richard," Andy replied gently. "You need to keep up your strength. Again, if you have surgery you'll need to be strong enough for it, and you'll need to be here to have it done. If not...If not you need to enjoy whatever time you have left."

Richard looked over to Jeremy, who turned away, but not before Richard could see the tears in his eyes. James said nothing. "I don't believe this," he answered. "There's no changing the outcome, is there? You've decided." He shook his head. "Wilman, I expect it from you, you have the whole thing to worry about. Clarkson too, though right now he's acting more like I'm just some damned invalid on his last legs. But James? You're going along with this?" Nobody spoke. "I'll be in my office."

James stood. "Hammond--"

" **Don't talk to me!** " he yelled at them as he walked out.

***

James waved a white piece of paper as a flag when he entered Richard's office a few minutes later. He'd tried to give his husband's legendarily volcanic temper a chance to vent, hoping a few moments of brooding would be enough.

"I know it's you, James," Richard grumbled. James took that as a sign it was okay to enter. He did, shutting the door behind him. "By the way, nice of you to back me up in there. I appreciate it, really."

"Stop it, Richard," James replied, irritated. "You make it sound like we're trying to backdoor you. Jezza and Andy are worried. They want you to get better. That's why I suggested the leave."

" _You_ suggested the leave?" 

James sighed. "I suggested it last week," James admitted, "even before what we heard from your doctor this morning. " Richard glared at him. "Rich, you need time. You need to rest and have the energy to fight. And I need to have the time to spend with you. Nobody gets that if we're wrapped up in production meetings and writing under deadline and working out the logistics of location shoots. And, like they said, if you choose to have the surgery you need to be here, not out in the middle of nowhere."

Richard wanted to argue this, he really did. He wanted to scream at James about counting him out, about losing his identity and independence. He wanted to go out to Andy and Jeremy and convince them he could do this until time was up and it might actually make his brain last a little longer. He wanted to prove everyone wrong, everyone who was waiting for him to completely lose it all and end tragically, because you simply can't fight it when your brain finally packs it in. 

Instead, the next thing Richard could remember he was in James' car, on the way home. 

A cold lump of dread settled in his throat. "James?" He asked softly. "What happened?"

"How far back do you remember?" James asked.

"My office. You were telling me you asked for the medical leave to be with me."

James didn't speak at first, trying to get a grip on his emotions. "You blanked out on me," he answered, from the sound trying not to let his voice shake. "You were here, and then you just...weren't. Jezza came in to try and smooth things over." He gave a nervous chuckle. "I think he pissed himself, he was so shocked."

Richard sighed and gave a faint smile. "Of all the times I would have liked to have seen that," he replied. "Would have cheered me up. How long was I out?"

"20 minutes." 

Richard had a hard time catching his breath. "20 minutes?" He asked weakly. James nodded. "I lost _20 minutes?_ "

" _Do you understand now?!_ " James snapped at him, more out of fear than anger. "Do you get what everyone is worried about? What if you did that on a rickety bridge? What if your presence of mind was the only thing between you and a cliff? You blank out like that and you could easily wind up dead, probably taking someone else out with you. Jesus, Hammond, you won't even allow yourself to drive after a night at the pub, just for this reason! Why would you think a location shoot would be any different?"

Richard couldn't argue with this, because he knew James was absolutely right. There was no difference between driving drunk and having some kind of blanking out behind the wheel. The sensory issues could be worked around--midday naps helped. They could build extra days into the shooting schedule for the headaches and missing lines could be cleaned up on voiceover. But this was entirely too dangerous. He understood, but he didn't like it. The solution was surgery, which had just as many dangers and wouldn't guarantee he was alive at the end of it.

"""

As it continued to progress, James and Richard stayed home more. The party line for the public was the shooting had commenced, though Amazon were now fully aware of Richard's situation and agreed a medical leave was necessary. Work on DriveTribe was performed by telecommuting, sometimes James and Richard together, sometimes James by himself. Shopping was easily done online and delivered, or James could order and pick up later.The goal was to keep Hammond as far from the clutches of the paparazzi as possible.

To watch Richard suffer was a type of emotional torment for James. He had to be on the front lines when Richard would cry out in pain or temporarily forget where he was. He always had a smile for James, there was appreciation for him, but there were times James could look into Richard's lovely dark eyes and see the question _Why are you taking care of me?_ And then Richard would regain his awareness, and the realization would hit that he was somewhere else for a bit, and then James could see the fear of what was happening to him.

One afternoon, as James was reading there came a soft knock on the door. James smiled; he'd been expecting Izzy and Willow to show up to see their father, now they were here. He greeted them with warm hugs and offers of tea, which they accepted. 

"So...where's Dad?" Willow asked as all three sat at the kitchen table with their tea.

"He's taking a nap," James answered, "which he should be wrapping up soon. I didn't dare tell him you were coming, he'd be too excited and the midday naps really help him focus."

"That's one reason we're here," Izzy stated, taking a sip. "If it's okay with you, James, we want to convince Dad to have the surgery." James nodded. "I know brain surgery is a risk. He could be worse than before, or he could even die..."

"But right now any chance of Dad getting better is worth the risk," Willow continued. "We want him to be who he's always been, and the surgery would be a better result than watching him slowly fade away from us."

"If we talk to him about it, will you back us?" Izzy asked.

James refilled their cups. "I will support any decision Richard makes, you know that," he answered. "And if he decides after you talk to him, I'll support that, too. But I can't take sides. This is a decision he has to make, and my opinion really doesn't matter."

"But it does matter," Willow countered. "Your opinion matters as much as anyone. Dad loves you."

"I love him," James replied, gently squeezing Willow's hand. "But your Dad is the one who has to endure the consequences of his actions. So he is the one who has to choose. But I'm sure he wants your input, he does value what you think. I think the best thing you can do is simply tell him no matter what he decides, you will love him regardless."

"James?" Richard called as he was heard coming down the stairs. "I had a dream. I kept hearing Izzy and Willow--" he entered the kitchen, looking a little bleary-eyed, and saw his daughters sitting at the kitchen table. His entire being lit up with joy, and they radiated the same back to him. He walked over and scooped them into his arms, holding them close. "Hi there! How long have you been here?"

"Not long," Izzy answered.

"Why didn't you tell me you were coming?" Richard asked.

Before James could explain, Willow explained, "We wanted this to be a surprise.We're on the semester break, so we came to visit you. Are you surprised?"

Richard laughed. "Very," he agreed. "But James, do you mind having a couple of houseguests?"

"Hardly," James smiled, loving the way his girls seemed to reenergize Richard completely. "They're not houseguests, they're your daughters, that hardly makes them houseguests. Now, what shall we have delivered for tonight's dinner? I was thinking..."

They stayed for ten days, and James found a last minute deadline writing for DriveTribe he 'had to finish at the office' so they could have some private time with their Dad. When he returned it was clear they'd not only had the discussion about the surgery, but also that Richard had an episode, but they'd handled it. James was impressed with their cool demeanor in handling the situation, but then James remembered they weren't only Richard's daughters, they were Mindy's daughters, too. Her calm strength and willingness to fight had been what got everyone through the accident in the first place. 

There was one night James came up with a surprise. He rented a hotel suite, took Richard, Izzy and Willow with him, invited Jeremy, and engaged in Team Monopoly. Richard and Izzy against James and Willow, with Clarkson a team of his own. There were plenty of laughs, James and Willow engaged in embezzlement from the Bank (leading Richard to decry his husband's negative influence on his daughter, only for Willow to point out the embezzling had been her idea), and Jeremy ended up winning against James at 4 in the morning, long after the others had gone to sleep.

Jeremy glanced around the room as James put the game back in the box; pizza boxes, drink bottles, and trays from Room Service littered the landscape."Bloody hell, looks like some rock stars invaded the place," he muttered.

"No, no booze," James argued. "Trashing a hotel suite should at least include getting drunk."

"Just to complete the tableau..." Jeremy grinned and pulled out a bottle of wine.

James gasped. "Jeremy! Can I divorce Hammond and marry you instead?"

"I don't go play on that side of the fence, " Jeremy answered, "but I will share this bottle of wine with you. What about the Hamster? Should we wake him?"

James shook his head. "The doctor told him to cut back the alcohol," he said, "which means more for us. Besides, what he doesn't know about he won't miss." 

James and Jeremy settled on the couch with plastic cups they found and drank the wine, feeling what those in Appalachia would call 'tolable'. "This was a good idea," Jeremy sighed as he took a swallow.

James smiled. "Yeah, Hammond would be quite cross if he had to watch us drink all this wine."

"Not the wine," Jeremy answered, "renting the suite, the game, a chance to party a little. We haven't done this in awhile." He poured out some more for himself. "I'm a bit staggered Richard lasted as long as he did before he had to sleep. All of this must have been exhausting."

James nodded. "I think he's trying not to freak his daughters out too much. Funny enough apparently he had an episode yesterday with them and they took care of it themselves. I think they're stronger than me, and I'm used to it."

"They are Mindy's daughters," Jeremy stated. "And there's more than a bit of Hammond in there, too. As unbelievably thick as he can be sometimes, he has the heart of a lion." They were silent a few minutes, drinking. "And how about you? How are things with you?"

"I don't know what do," James told him. "I'm in a sort of holding pattern until Richard decides what he wants to do. But it seems like I'm losing a little of him every day. There are times he looks at me and he doesn't really know who I am, what we're doing."

"Just like before," Jeremy observed. "He knew our names, he knew we were his mates, but he couldn't remember how he knew us sometimes."

"And every day I'm watching him slip back into that space," James added . "Sooner or later he's going to be even farther back." He swallowed down his wine. "As bad as this sounds, I think I could handle it better if Hammond had bought it in some crash. At least it would happen all at once. Not this long, slow decline."

Jeremy sighed with sympathy. "I know it's hard, and this is certainly not what you want to hear right now," he replied, "but this is what you signed up for when you married him." James took a quick look at Jeremy; what he saw wasn't mocking or angry, but sincere, understanding, gentle, and James felt the situation must have really been bad for Clarkson to appear this way. "This is the 'in sickness and in health' part," he continued. "You've been through this before, which is how I know for sure that you love him. Over the years you've had to watch as Hammond's nearly killed himself numerous times, yet you've stayed. You are going to stick with him no matter the outcome, and I suspect you'll come out the stronger for it. And if the roles were reversed and Richard was sitting here instead of you, I'd say the same thing."

James nodded toward the window, where the sky was showing a deep midnight blue instead of the inky black of night. "The sun's coming up," he said.

"Good thing," Jeremy observed, "we drank all the wine." He stood and stretched. "What time is checkout?"

"We don't," James answered with a grin. "I anticipated a late night, or heavy drinking would be involved, so I reserved today as well. And I already placed the 'do not disturb' sign so Housekeeping won't interrupt our sleep. We just need to place the Room Service trays outside and that's it."

"You are indeed a genius, May," Jeremy stated. "Not only did you think ahead, you managed both a late night _and_ heavy drinking." He sighed. "Are you okay?"

James nodded. "Guess I just needed to get that out," he answered. 

"Good," Jeremy answered with an evil grin. "Because I think I just had an idea to shit on Hammond."

James chuckled. "Oh, do tell!"

So it was in the late morning, as Izzy and Willow were waking up, as James was sleeping on the suite's couch, a still-sleeping Richard rolled over in his bed to pull James close. And found himself cuddling up to a sleeping Jeremy. The punctuation for James was suddenly waking up to AHHHH!! CLARKSON, WHAT THE FUCK?!, followed by hysterical laughter in the other room by Richard's daughters.

***

"Have everything?" Richard asked as the girls loaded their bags.

"I think so," Izzy answered. "Time for us Cinderellas to go back to being pumpkins again." She looked tenderly at her father. "Think about what we talked about, please Dad?" she said. "I'm not ready for you to go." Richard pulled her in for a firm embrace. A moment later Willow followed, with a hug neither seemed to want to break.

Willow came to James a moment later. "I hope you're not trying that embezzlement move when you're playing Monopoly in the dorm," he smiled at her. 

"No!" Willow replied with a squeak that was so similar to Richard's James couldn't help but laugh. "You're the only one who understands." She gave him a hug and whispered in his ear, "Please watch out for him."

"I will," James whispered back, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

As Izzy and Willow got in the car and drove away, James noticed Richard's demeanor change. It became clear how much energy Richard had expended trying to keep up appearances. He had tried so hard to keep himself present for them. James led him upstairs and put him to bed, then excused himself as soon as Richard fell asleep. He walked back down to the kitchen, presumably to put the kettle on for some tea.

And then James let himself break down and wept, knowing Richard would never be able to keep up the struggle that long anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and yes, the word is 'tolable', not 'tolerable'. In Appalachian dialect, to be tolable means you're peaceful, calm, and quite serene. People call it the speech of the uneducated, but Appalachian dialect came from England, Ireland, and Wales. My mother could reel it off with no problem. I got a part in a play once because I got off a tough line (translated from Gaelic to English, which made it convoluted), then explained my mother said it all the time. It was a fairly common Appalachian phrase.


	6. Chapter 6

A short time after Izzy and Willow returned to school, it all hit the fan.

Richard sat at his laptop from early morning, desperate to write. He was on leave even from DriveTribe now, but he held onto the idea that writing something--anything--would exercise his brain, keep it fit and limber, and maybe hold onto a few things longer. But the words wouldn't flow for him. James brought him cups of tea, which is what Richard did for James while writing, but otherwise stayed out of the way. Finally after three hours Richard rubbed his face in frustration and came into the kitchen for breakfast.

"How's it going?" James asked, trying to keep the conversation light, though deep down he already knew.Yesterday Richard had been working on his bike and forgot the name of the tool he was using was called a spanner. It took quite awhile before he eventually remembered it, but James, who had been working on his own bike at the time, could see the self-anger growing in his eyes. James could look at Richard and saw the same storm brewing.

"It's not," Richard answered glumly, eating the eggs James poached for him. "The words are not coming to me."

"Maybe writing is not how you want to create today," James offered. "Something non-verbal, perhaps?"

Richard stopped to consider this. "Perhaps," he replied. "I'm so blocked maybe a round of painting might release the flow. Thanks."

"My pleasure," James answered, giving Richard a light kiss. "Go out to the shed and paint to your hearts content."

"Would you please do something for me?" Richard requested. "Would you please play for me while I'm out there? I can hear you in the shed and it helps my creating."

James smiled. "It does?" 

Richard nodded. "I can't tell you how many paintings I've made while you were in here playing something." He kissed James. "Just play whatever, okay?" Richard walked out to the garden shed and James had a seat at the piano. 

Playing everything he could think of, from Bach to Scott Joplin, James would occasionally listen. Honestly, he didn't know what exactly he was listening for, considering painting was a quiet activity. After an hour or so James had to rest his fingers, so he walked back into the kitchen to put on the kettle.

And that's when he heard the scream.

It wasn't a scream of pain, as if he were injured. It was worse. This scream was of desperation, of fear, of loss, and overwhelming rage. More than anything it was rage, howling and dark, mounting over everything like the Edge's guitar solo in U2's "Acrobat". Thundering and fierce as Georges Danton in front of the Revolutionary Tribunal in France, on trial for his life. James had heard an approximation of this occasionally from Richard, but not everything at once.

He headed for the shed, unsure exactly how to handle it, when James heard crashing sounds inside. Richard was actually throwing things, and continuing to scream as he threw them. He peered into the doorway and immediately saw two things: one, Richard had found his tools and was proceeding to launch them in every direction, throwing them as hard as he could, hearing them loudly bouncing off the walls; second, the source of the problem--an entirely empty canvas, a sketchbook open to a blank page, no canvases where he'd started and then abandoned an idea. That empty canvas said more to James than anything Richard could ever say, that he was now bereft of his creative imagination. Just like before. James had not been there, then, Mindy had taken Richard to Scotland to recover. But Richard later described the nightmare of the loss of his imagination, fearing the loss was permanent, wondering what it meant for his job or even his enjoyment of life. James had known his love was an artistic being, through words and music and art, and the loss of this would crush him entirely. It was dangerous, potentially fatal, and heartbreaking to watch him come to this conclusion on his own.

"Richard..." James ventured quietly.

"It's gone, James!" Richard shouted. "IT'S FUCKING GONE!" He threw a few more tools. "I can't write, I can't draw, I can't even paint!" Richard pulled open a new case of tools and started throwing them, too; James desperately wanted to start picking up the discarded tools, put them back into the right place, but held himself as Richard really needed to get this rage out of him, needing to project outward instead of inward. 

"At least I should be able to fix my bike and remember the names of things, but I can't," he continued, looking at James desperately. "I can't go for a drive to clear my head, I might blank out behind the wheel. I can't be left alone in the house, I can't go out in public because the paparazzi might be watching. IT'S NOT FUCKING FAIR!"

James took a deep breath. "I know," he answered softly. 'But Rich, you need to calm down."

"Why? Why do I need to calm down?" Richard demanded. "So I don't space out, or feel like my brain is a giant bit of Origami? Guess what, mate, that's going to happen no matter what I do! Taking naps, no alcohol, staying calm, none of that is going to help. So you can tell Wilman to shove his sympathy up his arse! Tell Jezza to fucking stop trying to not let me see him fall apart when he sees me! And you..." James saw Richard glancing around, "can take your caretaking, and hovering and being the perfectly understanding husband sticking by my side no matter what..." Richard grabbed a Mason jar full of screws, nuts, and bolts, "and you can go FUCK YOURSELF WITH IT!!" He launched the jar at the door; James ducked out of the way, getting the door closed, before the jar could shatter against his head.

He didn't say a word. James didn't want a confrontation, but he wasn't having this--not here, not today. He made a cheese and pickle sandwich, a thermos of tea, and grabbed the broom and dustbin, carrying them out to the shed. He opened the door to find Richard staring around him in disbelief. "James, I'm sorry--"

"Spare me, Hammond," James interrupted, his tone of voice stern. "Here is lunch, here is tea, here is a broom and dustbin. Sweep up the glass, put everything that was in the jar on the bench over there. Then pick up _every one of my tools_ and put them back where you found them, _exactly_ how you found them. And you're not allowed back in the house until you do." He didn't wait for Richard's reaction or consent. James walked back into the house, slamming the door firmly.

***

"You did the right thing, James," Mindy said over the phone. "I know how he feels about losing his ability to create, but he had no right to say what he said, and certainly not to throw a glass jar at you. Making him clean up the mess he made is a good move. He'll think before he tries that again."

"How did you deal with these issues, Mindy?" James asked. "You had to balance what was happening due to his brain healing with simply having to stand up and defend yourself from mistreatment."

"It's a fine line," Mindy admitted. "I didn't want to be a monster, but I couldn't let him get away with behavior I wouldn't condone from small children, and I had small children at the time." There was a pause. "James, believe it or not you are doing about as well as you can under the circumstances," she told him. "If you have to put your foot down to insist on being treated with respect, you have to do it. You and I both know he can handle it. And don't let anyone tell you he has to be handled delicately. Rich isn't delicate."

"I know," James answered. "It's just..." His voice cracked. "He's slipping away, Mindy. And Rich knows it. I can see how scared and angry he is at what's happening to him."

"Good," Mindy announced, her voice sounding sharp. "If he's scared and angry then he'll fight, like he's always done. As long as he's scared and angry we will keep him a while longer. There's still a chance."

"There is, isn't there?" James responded. "Look, Mindy, I'm sorry I dragged you into this. I don't like to pull others in every single time we have a fight--"

"I know," she answered. "But you needed my advice this time, and I was happy to give it. Just love him, that's the best you can do. And don't be afraid to say no to him."

James hung up and warmed up some soup to eat. He could hear sounds from the shed and knew Richard was cleaning up the damage. It was a grey, chilly afternoon, hence James sympathetically giving Richard a thermos of hot tea. He was tempted to call Richard back inside, warm up soup for him, and let him out of the weather. But then he recalled the incident earlier and remembered what Mindy told him. He wasn't angry anymore, but he knew Richard had to be taught not to cross this line.

A little while later James heard the back door open. Richard appeared in the living room, looking sheepish. "I returned everything to their place," he said, his voice small and soft. "And I swept up the glass. I even found an empty container for everything that was in the jar I broke."

James nodded. 'Thank you."

"I am so sorry, James," Richard continued. "There's no excuse for what I did. I can never justify throwing a jar at you, especially when you had nothing to do with it."

"I saw the canvas, Rich," James told him. "Or, rather, I saw there was nothing. And then I saw the fear."

Richard sat on the piano stool. "There was nothing, absolutely nothing," he sighed. "I've had moments when things just don't come, or I can't paint what I see. But I always thought if I left it alone awhile the idea would eventually happen. This time...not only was there nothing, I knew there would be nothing, ever again. And I knew that as clearly as I know I'm sitting here with you. Even hearing you play, normally it inspires me in some way. Today it was just noise. And earlier today I lost words, I couldn't write. I panicked." He tried and failed to keep the tears out of his voice. "I can't imagine anymore, and if I can't imagine I can't create. If I can't do that...what can I possibly be to you?"

James walked over to Richard, standing over him. "You can still be the man I love," he said, "because the Richard Hammond I love isn't just a writer who paints on the side." James caressed the side of Richard's face. "The Richard I love is funny," James said. "He never fails to find something that makes him laugh. He's loyal to his mates. There is a kindness he shows for others, many who simply know him as a bloke on the telly." Richard leaned his head on James lovingly. "He is sweet and doesn't let fear keep him from what he wants; in fact, sometimes he screams in rage at it." He pulled Richard to his feet to face him. "That is the Richard I loved and married, and who I want to belong to for as long as he'll have me." He pulled Richard to him and held him tightly to his chest.

They stood together like this for awhile, James pressing Richard close, hoping his husband could feel the love he tried to send, Richard feeling safe in James' arms, listening to his heartbeat. Richard looked up at James, his large brown eyes and soft lips a silent invitation. James read that invitation, capturing Richard's mouth in a sound kiss. Their tongues explored slowly and thoroughly, tasting and enjoying the other, kissing deeply until both needed to come up for air. It had been awhile for them, both wanting to take their time. 

Richard closed his eyes and tried to get a handle on himself. "I want to belong to you, James," he whispered breathlessly, James feeling the trembling of Richard's body next to his. James could hardly speak himself, the blood rushing from his brain to settle in his growing erection. 

"I'll make sure the doors are locked," James whispered to him. 

A few minutes later James joined Richard in the shower, his hands sliding over the lithe, beautiful man next to him. Richard reciprocated, reaching as high as he could, pulling James down to kiss him deeply, kisses James could feel in his toes. Richard was present, attentive, his dark eyes filled with the love James hoped he reflected back. 

Once out of the shower, which lasted until the hot water had run out, they dried each other slowly with soft towels. It was there Richard went to his knees and took James into his mouth, staring up into his husband's glowing blue eyes, James reading the devotion and submission to his will. Richard continued to taste and suck him delicately, until James lifted him off the floor. "Not that way, baby," he said, his voice low and dark. "Can't last very long like that." He kissed Richard again and pushed him gently toward the bed, stretching out and covering Richard once he lay down beside him. James trailed kisses along Richard's jawline, down the side of his neck to the shoulder and collarbone, his hands wandering to Richard's erection, giving a few lazy strokes, fondling his balls with long fingers. Richard arched his back, softly moaning. "God, Rich, do you know how beautiful you are right now?" James asked. "You are so turned on, so sexy, so wanting of what we can do together." He continued to run his lips along Richard's collarbone, his touch feather-light, until he came to the nipples, which were teased unmercifully with the tip of James' tongue.

"James," Richard moaned. "Please..."

"Not yet," James answered back, the grin in his voice. "You want to belong to me, remember? Well, I'm making sure you belong to me and me alone. Only I can do this to you." 

 

With that James continued his seduction of Hammond. He wandered lower, loving the rise and fall of Richard's body. James adored the moment he glanced and saw Richard was completely his, without restraint, just using what he had with him, and he had only just begun. James reached for the lube in the nightstand, setting it aside for the time being, then continued to taste the lower half of Richard's body. As turned on as James had been already, the flush of Richard's skin, the sounds of his soft moans and begging for more, so much more, the scent of Richard's arousal, the taste of the precum James licked off his husband's cock, pushed James deeper into his own desire. As he had always done, he wanted to explore the map of his husband's life again, finding the undiscovered country. 

And Richard wanted James to explore him. James entranced him, the way he could so easily control and constrain him, using little more than his hands, his tongue, and his voice. It never took much to subdue him anyway, but James had found the means almost immediately. Even now it filled Richard with wonder just how easily James could master him. At the same time, James rarely used this power away from home, clearly not letting ego get the best of him. It only served to increase his control over Richard, the idea he could and didn't. It also allowed Richard to want to be controlled by James during these intimate moments.

James covered his fingers with lube and entered Richard, loving to watch his face as James found his prostate and stroked. Richard was beyond words now, his lust overwhelming his language centers. It was different for James to render Richard speechless, but satisfying, considering Richard had done that to him quite consistently over the years. And even though he was speechless, the heat in Richard's brown eyes told James everything; he was completely under James' power now, wanting to be inundated with passion and sensation and love. When James had finished preparing him, slicking his cock down and slowly pushed himself inside, Richard knew his husband was prepared to do just that.

James had not been having sex with Richard in awhile now, and he was desperate; it was very tempting to just slam into Richard relentlessly, going in hard and fast and simply give Richard the fucking of his life, be Captain Not Slow. But that was sort of like the difference between hamburger and a filet mignon; hamburger is wonderful and satisfying being devoured quickly, but a filet was meant to be enjoyed slowly. Today, Richard was filet. So James took his time, thrusting carefully, allowing Richard to feel his entire length, stilling himself to reach down and kiss Richard deeply, savoring the tight channel and searing heat, listening for every single sound Richard made, from panting with his efforts to meet James' thrusts to the whimpers as his body writhed in pleasure. 

"James..." Richard breathed, "gonna....gonna...." almost instinctively he grabbed himself and began to stroke his cock, needing the release. At the same time James lost control of himself, bringing Richard's legs up and thrusting hard inside. James managed to hear a loud groan from Richard and felt his internal muscles squeeze before his vision blurred and everything went silent, riding on a wave of bliss.

The next thing James heard was Richard's voice, trying to talk him down in spite of trying to catch his own breath: "...that's it...you're back...I got you, love." James opened his eyes and Richard was right there beside him, stroking the side of his face. "Welcome back," he whispered, giving an exhausted smile.

"How are you feeling?" James whispered to him.

"Very tired," Richard answered, "though I think I should be after that session. That was...." Richard shrugged. "I guess I can't really think of a word for it that's appropriate. It's been awhile." 

"I know," James nodded. "I wanted a time when you were present, and able. Both of those things have been hard to come by at the same time lately."

Richard leaned in and kissed James, slow and sweet. When the kiss ended he looked at James, his face serious. "I love you," he said. "I belong to you and you alone, and I want to keep belonging to you. That's why...." He sighed. "I'm going to take a chance on the surgery, James."

James blinked, unsure if he'd actually heard that correctly. "You are?"

"I know it's a risk," Richard answered. "I could make things worse. It could kill me. But the path I'm currently on, I know for sure I _will_ get worse and then I _will_ die. I thought I was ready for that, but I'm not." Tears filled Richard's eyes, something James almost never saw. "I want to take the chance of remembering those who matter in this world for a while longer."

James' response was to pull Richard into an embrace. He knew he could easily lose his husband, but Richard was right--the other way was certain and terrible, and at least this way there was a chance. "No matter what happens," James whispered, his voice shaking, "I love you, and will always love you."


	7. Chapter 7

The appointment and date of Richard's surgery was set quickly. James, however, was frightened. While he welcomed the chance to get Richard well again, to have him back to the man he loved so much, James was under no illusions on the risks involved. It was just as likely he was spending his last days with the Richard he knew; either things would go horribly wrong and the outcome would be worse than now, forcing Richard to live out an existence nobody wanted, or he would end up dying and James would be left alone. James didn't want to be in a world where Richard didn't exist. There was an inner light in him that was strong and radiated out to others, drawing them in. All those times, those moments he should have died and didn't, only strengthened that force, and until now James hadn't quite understood. All he knew was without Richard the world would lose its light, would become dark and cold and devoid of joy. The chance had to be taken to risk the dying of the light.

It seemed as though the dark forces of the world were trying to fight back, however, trying to take Richard before he had the ability to fight back. Almost as soon as he'd chosen the surgery and it had been scheduled, the downward turn began with a vengeance. The feeling of implosion now seemed to last much of the day, and sleep hardly contained it. Worse, now the changes were inducing nightmares, visions that were hallucinatory and horrifying. Richard wasn't quite sure whether these were indeed hallucinations or recalling blocked images of the far dark places he'd visited before after Elvington, struggling to return. He wasn't sleeping at night, which only made everything worse during the day. And on the days when Richard's brain didn't want to fold itself into a grotesque paper figurine, there were the headaches, quickly outstripping the painkillers given to combat them. James would often find Richard in a fetal position on the bed, weeping in pain. More than anything James simply wanted to hold him, try to offer some emotional comfort, to let Richard feel the support and love and encouragement to keep fighting. But every time Richard would pull away, feeling overstimulated, his brain screaming with the sensory overload of scent and touch and light, James would walk away from the encounter with a little more of his soul ripped away. 

"We're losing him, Jezza," he said softly one night to Jeremy; he'd come over one night with Andy Wilman to catch up with James, since he was now unable to leave Richard alone. Clarkson had been shocked by the appearance of the man who opened the door: skin pale, slightly grey with exhaustion, blue eyes full and sad--James had aged in such a short time, weighed down with grief. "He's fighting even now, he's not going easily. But I don't think he's going to make it to the surgery, or that he'll survive it." 

"He'll drag himself to the operating room, now he's made up his mind," Andy replied. "Stubborn bastard. He's always been like that. But James, have you seriously looked at a mirror lately? The one in danger of not making it is _you_. You are frayed at the edges, mate."

"Wilman's being polite," Jeremy stated. "You look like shit. When was the last time you slept?"

James rubbed his eyes. "What day is it?" He asked as an answer. He sighed. "This has affected Richard's sleep patterns, too. As a result I've not been sleeping much. And just getting Rich through the day to take care of things that need to be handled, like his estate attorney--"

"Estate attorney?" Jeremy asked, eyes wide.

"Yeah," James answered. "We had to make sure everything was prepared in case...." James took a deep breath.

"That makes sense," Andy replied. "But that sort of comes back to my point. May, if you don't take care of yourself a bit, you may not be here to help Richard post-surgery. "

"It happens with caretakers," Jeremy added. "They get wrapped up in taking care of the one who's ill and they become ill themselves." He paused. "My father wasn't a healthy man before he died. He wasn't an invalid, but Mum took it upon herself to care for him as his wife, to the point she ignored a great many things for herself. She lived on for many years after he died, but she wasn't physically quite the same after that. She put things off to care for him and as a result some of those things took hold. We don't want to see that happen to you, and I'm sure Hammond doesn't, either."

"It won't come to that," James replied. "Hammond's surgery is in just a few days. I just need to hold on until then."

***

"James? Are you awake?"

"Yes," James answered, turning over to look at Richard in the dark. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, apart from the obvious. I've had something on my mind. I want to tell you about it, it's important."

"Okay," James answered, sitting up. "Tell me."

"It's about the future," Richard began quietly. James patiently waited. "When I met with the attorney I gave him a series of personal letters to give to everyone, in case things go badly. Part of those letters concern you."

"Me? What about me?"

"Just to look out for you," Richard told him. "And to understand. James, if something happens, if the surgery goes wrong and I'm not here, or just not the same..."

James was sure where this conversation was going, and he wanted nothing of it. "Rich--"

"....I don't want you to spend the rest of your life alone..."

"I'm not hearing this, Richard--"

"....you deserve to have love in your life..."

"HAMMOND!! STOP!!" James shouted, nearly in a panic. "Why are we discussing this? It sounds like you're giving up, and I'm not having you give up!"

"I'm not giving up," Richard protested. "But the reality is all of this can go pear-shaped rather quickly. It's already started. And I'm telling you this now and not in the hospital so you can't say later I was irrational. I want you to hear it straight from me so you know I'm okay with you finding love with someone else. I don't want you tied to my memory so that you can never be happy again."

"And you think you're just that fucking replaceable?" James responded, trying to keep the anguish out of his voice. "Hammond, you are such a complete idiot." James wouldn't look at Richard. Richard placed his hand over the back of James' neck and pulled him over to lean on his shoulder. "It took me so long to finally have you the way I wanted you," he whispered softly. "What makes you possibly believe I can just go find someone else?"

"Because I'm going to make sure you never hide who you truly are ever again," Richard gently announced. "And if that happens, someone is definitely going to love you." James said nothing else. He lay down with Richard in his arms. Richard smiled at the knowledge whether the rest his life came a few days from now or many years from now, he was going to love James May for the rest of it. And if James had to go on without him, he was going to make sure James would not spend the rest of his life alone.

***  
Jeremy floored his AMG Mercedes, roaring past the almost non-existent traffic at 4 AM. There were times he simply gave zero fucks about a speeding ticket or points on his license. This was one. "Jezza, he's in trouble," he heard James tell him. "I can't snap him out of it. We're going to the hospital _now_." James was firm, but the undercurrent was of barely restrained panic. There was no thought after that, he threw on some jeans and a shirt, grabbed a jacket and his keys. He turned the radio to some thrash metal, knowing it would make him put his foot down harder.

"You can't go out this way, Hammo," Jeremy said out loud to himself. "Everything you've done, everything you've survived, you should be vaulting over the Pearly Gates on fire in a P1, screaming. Not this." He put his foot down harder, feeling the sense of urgency.

How he got there without being involved in about half a dozen collisions would be a mystery for the rest of Jeremy Clarkson's life. He hit the lock on his keypad and raced through the doors of the emergency entrance. Andy Wilman was already there, along with Richard's brother Nick. "Where's May?" He asked. "What happened?"

"Doing the paperwork," Andy told him. "We're waiting for the neurologist now. James said Richard completely spaced out."

"But he comes back after a few minutes, doesn't he?" Jeremy asked.

"Not this time," Andy said. "James told me the phases have been lasting longer. This time he couldn't bring Richard around, so now we're here."

Jeremy stepped away a little, trying to keep himself together. He felt like he needed to be doing something to not fall apart. "Who do you want me to call?" He asked, his voice shaking.

"I've already called Mindy," Nick answered. "She's on the way with the girls. James has already called his family. Our brother Andy and his family should be here shortly."

"I guess that just leaves our friends and associates," Wilman stated. "But we should wait until we know more."

"What about the media?" Jeremy asked. "I didn't see any on the way in, but that won't mean they won't hear about it and come slithering out from under their rocks."

"I've already spoken to security," Andy replied. "They're aware. A more formal discussion can take place when the administration comes in later."

As Andy was finishing his answer, James emerged from another area of the A&E. He looked pale, hardly making eye contact; Jeremy guessed that if James were to look directly at any of them for too long, he'd simply collapse into tears. "The neurologist is here," he announced to everyone. "Rich came out of it, but of course he had no idea where he was, so it freaked him out a little. He's calmed down now." He paused. "He's being prepped for surgery."

"Right now?" Jeremy asked. James nodded. "Bloody hell. Is he strong enough?"

"Probably not," James answered, then cut the sentence short by quickly turning away. Andy was stricken. There had been plans for the surgery in a few days, but if they were going to do it now...that could only mean things were further along than they feared.

***

Everyone was here.

Jeremy stared around the conference room the hospital had donated to make a makeshift waiting room. He had come to give an update, announcing Richard was still in surgery. When he opened the door he was surprised. The room was full of friends--Richard's friends, James' friends, people from their shows, from DriveTribe. It reminded him of before, of how deeply Hammond was loved by everyone. And it bit at Jeremy to think it was possible their funny, exuberant, brave, resilient mate may not have it in him to come back this time.

He headed back to the other waiting room, where Richard's loved ones were waiting. Jeremy and Andy had been invited by James to be here, needing the moral support of mates who'd been with him the longest. James didn't expect any drama from Richard's family, not at all, but this was a special circumstance, and James knew sometimes in these extraordinary circumstances the stress can make things happen. So he needed mates who could stand by him. Nick and Andy Hammond were here, along with their families. There was Mindy and Izzy and Willow. The room was eerily quiet.

James sat off to the side, seemingly having a forcefield around him. He was quiet and withdrawn, nobody wanting to disturb him. In his bubble James was walking through the memory of the conversation he'd had with Richard. His husband had come around and didn't recognize the location, causing him to panic; this had been a combined effect in the past of his brain injury and the extensive travel for work, oftentimes waking up in odd locations and having to piece together where he was. This time nothing was coming to him. Only the presence of James calmed him down, told him he was safe. And then he was taken away for tests, James only hearing from Richard's doctor that he needed surgery immediately.

James hadn't seen Richard for over an hour, and when he did Richard had already been prepped and was waiting to be taken to the operating room. _Your hair_ , James had whispered in shock, realizing his head had been shaved.

Richard smiled. _It will grow back. I'm not like Clarkson and have a bald spot_. There was a moment of silence between them. _Would it surprise you much if I said I'm really fucking scared?_

 _Like the time you had the Land Rover winched up the side of the dam, with you in it?_ James replied. Richard nodded; he'd been well and truly terrified at that stunt, enough where that terror was palpable to viewers months later. _Do you remember you had me help work on that special winch without telling me what it was for?_

_I knew if I told you in advance, and that I was actually going to be in the Land Rover, there would have been a row_ , Richard answered. _When I was in the thing, I kept hearing your voice in my head, calling me a pillock for even trying it. But I also knew the winch would work, because you made it. I trusted you that much._ He looked into James' blue eyes. _I want to trust you that much now, when you tell me I'm going to come through this okay._

 _You are_ , James replied, though he wondered to himself if he really meant that. James gathered Richard's hands into his and looked into his husband's brown eyes when he said something else, something he knew to trust. _I love you, Rich._

 _I belong to you, James_ , Richard answered back, _and I won't belong to anyone else._ They kissed each other softly, then Richard was taken away.

And now James was sitting here in his little bubble, not letting anyone in. James liked to be this way--not exactly unfriendly, just closed off to the world, apart, watching from afar. Jeremy and Richard had always embraced the world, albeit in different ways. James was always the one off to the side, studying the landscape before engaging. It allowed him time to experience and feel and react. Richard was always the best at understanding both sides of James, exuberantly pulling him out of the bubble at times, gentle and careful other times, and even making himself scarce if necessary. 

And it had taken James close to a decade to get Richard to read him so well. How was he going to find someone else to read him that way, if he should need to?

"He won't leave you," James heard a voice. Looking over, he realized Willow had come to sit next to him. "Dad loves you too much."

James grinned. "I could say the same about you," he replied. "Izzy, too. When he and your Mum split up, his thoughts were always about making it as easy as he could for you guys. Then after he crashed in Switzerland he thought of how much he wanted to be around for you."

"Do you think that will be enough?" Willow asked.

"I want to believe that," James told her. James was praying that would be enough.

The hours dragged on. Andy went to the conference room to give the update and returned with sandwiches for everyone. James continued to sit in his own bubble. Jeremy stepped up to him, sandwich in hand. "Time to eat," he offered.

"I'm not hungry," James politely refused.

"You sound too much like Hammond," Jeremy glowered. "Eat." Frowning at the comparison, James took the sandwich. Jeremy sat beside him and tucked into his own sandwich. "How long do you think it's been?" He asked between bites.

"I don't know," James answered. "I stopped looking at the time. Whenever I did, no matter how long, it was like time had stopped." They ate in silence for awhile. "Any moment now, I feel like the neurologist will come in," he said. "He's going to tell me how he tried his hardest, and he's sorry, and....and..." James dropped his head.

Jeremy shook his head. "Blokes like Hammond don't go out this way," he replied. "He survived a jet car flipping. He went off a mountain in a car that caught fire. He nearly froze to death on top of a mountain, with the flu. Do you really think this will get him?" There was a pause. "Do you remember that Australian bloke, the one they called the Crocodile Hunter? He didn't go in a road accident, or the flu. Not even a crocodile. This man was stabbed in the heart by a stingray. A complete billion-to-one shot. And that is Richard Hammond right there. Whatever is going to get him, it isn't this."

"This is one time I hope you're right," James finally replied. "Because for months now I've been thinking of nothing but the opposite.What I'm going to do if I have to be his caretaker. How am I going to reconfigure the house? Are we going to have to find a new house? How am I going to learn how to take care of him? What happens if it's not caretaking I have to plan for, and it's something like a funeral service? How would I..." he swallowed hard, "...how would I deal with being alone?" All Jeremy could do was pat James on the shoulder, a form of reassurance.

James caught the thoughts in his own head and couldn't help but be darkly amused by them. How long did James actually live alone in his life, before Richard was more than one of his mates? Pretty much his adult life. He accepted it, accepted he would live alone the rest of his life. It was never what he had in mind, but he'd learned to accept it. And then...Richard. James could look back now and see the emptiness of his life alone. Now he stood a good chance of being forced back into that life again. This time the idea was more lonely and bitter than he could ever imagine. This was more than having someone he loved so completely taken away, more than loving someone and unable to show it. This was never being able to find anyone else to love. He would become one of the living dead to the rest of the human race, existing but not participating, present only, locked away and isolated in a world full of people. All because he'd gone and fallen in love with a short, chirpy, overly enthusiastic, short-tempered, juvenile idiot. That same idiot who cared about what he had to say, who valued his input and opinion, who thought of him as a wonder in bed, who laughed at his jokes and loved to ride bikes with him all over the place, and would gladly defend him in a pub fight if it ever came to that. 

How could he ever go on without him? Even if he were alive but not the same, how could it be possible to exist with him not here?

One look across the room told James what he needed to know about that. There was a reason he had these particular people in the waiting room with him. He remembered what Mindy had told him before, that Richard wasn't weak and ultimately didn't have weak people around him. Everyone had their strengths and when needed brought them forth. They would support each other with those strengths and abilities when one among them needed them. There was Jezza, who would defend to the last while driving everyone forward and insane simultaneously; Andy Wilman, the band's manager, who knew how to get what he wanted and needed, even with the most unimposing manner; Mindy Hammond, the warrior, the one who was stronger than anyone dared consider; Izzy, the bullshit detector, perceptive beyond belief, the one who could see it all in spite of what was unsaid; Willow, the one most like her father, equally adventurous and resourceful, who was probably the way Richard really was before almost dying scarred him the first time; his brothers, the keepers of Richard's memory, of everything he ever was and hopefully will be. And there were those in the conference room who would also defend Richard and him, who would help him fight and have his back, or just be the one to listen or even get him drunk if he needed.

 _No matter the outcome_ , James said to himself, though he was likely saying this to Richard as well, _no matter what happens, we have what we need around us. And that simply leaves two, who love and laugh and remember what we are together. Who will always be together. Who belong to each other. And nobody else._

The door opened. Richard's neurologist stood there. He was looking right at James. James rose slowly.

So did everyone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story ends here. I deliberately left it open because it's up to the reader to decide how it ends; as you know, in a soap opera it can go either way. 
> 
> If you have a thought of how you think this ends, please post it on the comments below, or by Direct Message. And if you can get your own story of what happens next, you have my permission to use it. Thanks.


End file.
